


The Ferret's Nativity

by Small_Hobbit



Series: Another Twelve Days of Christmas [7]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 22:44:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9145420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: In which the Ferret goes to church and becomes involved in the service.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [okapi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/okapi/gifts).



The Ferret, the Ocelot and Mouselet were sitting in the back pew of the church.  It was a cold day and Inky had elected to stay behind.  Dr Watson had agreed with the wisdom of his decision.  In addition, whilst the Ocelot could hide in the corner of the pew (the church was badly lit, even in daytime), it might be difficult to conceal a porcupine. 

Mouselet had scrambled up onto one of the candlesticks, to get a better view of proceedings, and at the same time chew some of the wax which had run down the side of the candle earlier.  The Ferret was sitting up on his haunches between the doctor and Sherlock Holmes.  He wasn’t very interested in the proceedings and every so often would start to doze, awaking again with a start.  He hoped things would get more interesting before the sermon.  Inspector Lestrade was sitting in a pew on the other side of the aisle, closer to the altar.

The congregation rose to sing the next carol and the doctor and Holmes slipped out of their pew, and were quickly joined by the inspector.  Under cover of the singing they made their way round the side towards the organ.

Mouselet was watching intently and suddenly squeaked, “The vicar’s done a runner.”

“They’d hoped to avoid that,” the Ocelot said.  “As soon as the congregation notice they’ll start looking around and we really don’t want that.”

“There’s only one thing for it,” Mouselet said, “It’s a long hymn, we’ve just got time.”

She ran back down.  “Quick, where’s the Ferret’s cape?”

The Ferret’s latest outfit was a black cape, which he was wearing in his role as the villain in a puppet theatre.  Currently he insisted he take the cape everywhere with him, saying it was a super-hero’s cape.  No-one knew exactly what a super-hero was, but if it kept the Ferret happy they weren’t complaining.  There had been some discussion as to how the black cape material could be made to work properly, and in the end it had been attached to a white collar which had been designed for a small dog.  The cape now flew behind the Ferret in an excellent villainish, or super-heroish, fashion.

“Right,” Mouselet said, “put your cape on backwards.”  She fastened the dog collar.  “Now, if I tie the ends of the cape together round your back,” she did so as she spoke, “You look just like a vicar.”

“Except for the fur and the tail,” the Ocelot murmured.

“You can’t have everything,” Mouselet retorted.  “Quick, get into the pulpit.”

The Ferret scrambled into the pulpit and just as the congregation sat down after singing the hymn his head appeared, followed by the rest of his body, complete with clerical dress.  He waved a paw, but no-one responded.  He tried again, and this time a few of the children shyly waved back.  He nodded to them and began waving his paws around, sticking his fat tummy out and patting it, and then trotting along the edge of the pulpit, before turning round and walking more slowly the other way.

“What’s he doing?” whispered Mouselet.

“I think he’s acting out the Christmas story,” the Ocelot said.

They watched as the Ferret mimed knocking on a door, and then turned to face the other direction before shaking his head and pointed away from himself.

Around them there were various mutters of “how clever of the vicar, to use a puppet to tell the story” and “I’m not sure it’s appropriate for a church”.  But whatever disapproval was felt the congregation continued to watch the Ferret’s performance avidly.

“I hope something happens soon,” the Ocelot said, “the Ferret’s knowledge of the end of the story is quite hazy.”

“That’s because he’s only learnt it from the crib Mrs Hudson put up.”

“And some of that bears little resemblance to the real story,” the Ocelot sighed.

“Yes, Inspector Hopkins was surprised to find his handkerchief in the manger,” Mouselet giggled.

“That’s because the baby Jesus is supposed to be sleeping in the manger, not you.”

“Why shouldn’t I?  Everyone knows Mr Holmes has lost baby Jesus.”

Fortunately, just at the moment when the Ferret was miming what appeared to be a giant bird of prey, a nervous looking choirmaster came out, accompanied by Inspector Lestrade.

“I’m afraid the inspector says our service must end now,” the choirmaster said.

There were a number of groans of disappointment, not all of which came from the children.

“So we shall sing our final carol and depart.”  The choirmaster nodded at the organist who played a chord completely at random.

Mouselet and the Ocelot hurried to join Holmes and Watson who were making a discrete exit from the church.

“What exactly _are_ they singing?” Holmes asked.

“It sounds like ‘While shepherds washed their wings of glory’”, Watson replied.

“Seems appropriate for the Ferret’s Nativity,” the Ocelot commented wryly.

 

 


End file.
